For months we have been dealing with rats in our roof. A few weeks ago, as some of you may know, they started moving into our cabinets. After setting and resetting traps, it appears the rats have left the building.
But before I officially close this horrific chapter in my life, I’d like to say a few words about the “rat ring” that was operating in our home. They were a special breed of rats. They were tough. They were resilient. They were a slick pack of ballbusters and they did not go down without a fight. We were, without question, harboring Mafia Rats.
There was a Don, a consigliere, an underboss and a few soldiers and associates. Every evening around 6 PM they held a family meeting led by the Don Vito Corleone of rats. He even spoke in a raspy voice, smoked a cigar and looked like he had cotton balls in his cheeks.
Don: Listen carefully. I want you to go down there and eat through the wall. Get into their cabinets and play with their tupperware.
Underboss: What’s tupperwa…
Don: (sigh) Where was I? Oh, yes. Play with their tupperware. Piss on their juicer. And shit in the gravy boat. But whatever you do, do not eat the Orkin jelly. It’s a trap.
The rats gasp.
Consigliere: Go. Get outta heah.
Those Mafia Rats did their job and they did it well. Until one day, we made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Peanut butter.